Maize by Karie Luidens

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I’m told it’s an old tradition, but for me it’s a first: time to enter the Rio Grande Community Farm’s annual Maize Maze!

Actually, this year it should be called the Sorghum Maze. The farm’s blog explains:

Sorghum is an old-world grain that produces a cereal crop. Sorghum is used primarily as animal-feed, but also in the production of beer, ethanol, and a southern specialty: sorghum molasses.

Importantly for the use in a maze, sorghum also grows tall and dense, like a field of corn. In fact, sorghum mazes, and mazes made of other tall grasses, are sprouting all across the world, from Tazmania to Tennessee.

The Rio Grande Valley is getting its own taste of sorghum the last two weekends in October, complete with paletas, food trucks, and educational programming by Explora!, the Audubon Society, the ABQ biopark, and more!

Why sorghum?

“Sorghum uses less water, which is an important resource in the High Plains. Plus, it uses less fertilizer. Therefore, the environmental impact is much less compared with growing corn” says farmer Dale Artho in a 2015 interview with journalist Bill Speigel.

Mist by Karie Luidens

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If you’re going to be smothered by the mist of low-hanging clouds all day, there’s no better way to frame their drama than with mountains to the east and mesas to the west.

Must by Karie Luidens

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I suppose some people might find fall’s dampness to be musty, compared with the freshness of spring breezes or clarity of summer’s skies. It’s true that recent rains and falling leaves combine to exhale a hint of decay. But that’s okay. It’s the earth beginning to put itself to bed for a season, only to awaken richer next year.

Rust by Karie Luidens

One of the many, many reasons I love autumn: the world’s palette shifts from bubbly brightness and sharp contrasts to muted shades of amber and rust. Just look at the lovely bouquet a friend brought to dinner.

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Roots by Karie Luidens

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Arriving at the farm for yesterday’s CSA pickup, I was struck by how utterly autumnal this week’s share is. One of the many pleasures of eating fresh, local produce is the fact that your food follows the seasons. Spring’s flowers and leafy green and summer’s bright fruits have given way to squash, earthy root vegetables, and the muted shades of fall.

Gusts by Karie Luidens

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Brr! The trees are heaving, leaves and twigs are flying, the corn stalks out back are swaying. These are some rough, bitter winds we’re getting on this gray day.

Frost by Karie Luidens

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It’s just as well that we harvested some winter squash yesterday: it feels fully wintry around here this morning. Temperatures dipped below freezing overnight and we awoke to flurries of snow, the first snowfall of the season.

Gourd by Karie Luidens

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Time to bring in our first mature cushaw squash, also known as a Japanese pumpkin or silver gourd! I’m glad to add this to our dining room table’s centerpiece to replace the sugar pumpkin we’ve now devoured in delectable bread form.

Genes by Karie Luidens

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My paltry little set of saved seeds is nothing compared to Svalbard. But it’s not nothing. I’m happy to be doing my tiny part in the global mission to save the “genetic resource” that is seed diversity.

For more on that, I’d recommend this recent article as a must-read: “Seed diversity is disappearing” by Mark Schapiro for Salon. He tells a story that’s relevant and vital for all of humanity, starting at Tucson’s Native Seeds/SEARCH, where I participated in a two-day seed-saving workshop back in March.

By 2018, after a frenzy of mergers and acquisitions, just three companies controlled more than half of all seed revenues, and a growing percentage of the living germplasm embedded in those seeds. The primary business for all three, now fused into globe-stretching merged companies—DowDuPont, Bayer-Monsanto, and Syngenta-ChemChina—is not seeds, but agricultural chemicals. The combination of chemical and seed companies is giving rise to seeds that are born addicted to chemicals for their survival—entire generations full of crack-baby seeds.

One major result has been the accelerating disappearance of seed diversity at just the time when we require a broader genetic spectrum to adapt to the volatile impacts of our changing climate. Changes in growing conditions are convulsing the planet’s food-growing lands. The changes are coming more quickly, and less predictably, than our ability to breed seeds can respond. The time by which adaptability to new conditions must occur is shortening. We can no longer wait the average five-to-ten- or even fifteen-year time span needed to breed a new variety.

Not only is it getting hotter and drier, tumult in the atmosphere is delivering conditions that we can no longer predict, which means that agriculture has to respond both to the current set of conditions, and to new and more volatile conditions, which may be just a season or two ahead. Climate change is heightening the stakes in our search for seeds that can adapt to an accelerating pace of unknowns. “There’s no precedent at all for what we’re going to see,” George Frisvold, a professor of Agricultural and Resource Economics at the University of Arizona, told me, when I visited him in his office on the other side of town from Native Seeds/SEARCH in Tucson. Frisvold served on President Clinton’s Council of Economic Advisers where, in the 1990s, he began trying to gauge the impact of climate change on our food system. Now, it seems, the concerns they had at the time are coming true like a chronicle foretold. “We don’t really know how bad it’s going to get.”

A diversity of seeds is imperative to enable us to withstand this period of accelerating environmental stress.